


Memorial Service

by irenegerke



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Even If They Aren't By Name, Hell Everyone Is Mentioned, Levi Is A Squishy Cactus, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:43:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irenegerke/pseuds/irenegerke
Summary: The memorial service was held just as the color of the leaves on the trees burst into reds and yellows. The air still warm with hints of summer cooled by the promise of winter.





	Memorial Service

The memorial service was held just as the color of the leaves on the trees burst into reds and yellows. The air still warm with hints of summer cooled by the promise of winter. The crowd standing at the base of the hill that lead to The Survey Corp memorial numbered in the hundreds. A few stooped silvered figures sat quietly on the chairs provided while the majority of the crowd was made up of former trainees that mingled together with respectful murmurs.

At precisely two o’clock a stern-faced man with short clipped blond hair and friendly blue eyes strode onto the podium that was the focus of the crowd. He made no sound as he stood in front of the microphone that was centered on the stage watching crowd quickly quiet and unexpectedly arrange itself into neat rows.

His throat tight at the display of respect being demonstrated he quickly cleared his throat. “I see we all still remember Commander Akerman’s expectations when we were being addressed.” He said with a fond chuckle. There were a few scattered laughs and numerous smiles at his words.

“My name is Marco Reiss. I was part of the final class of trainees to be overseen by Commander Akerman. However, for me the Commander was also my Great Uncle Levi. The man whose presence and quiet advice guided me throughout my childhood and youth. For myself and others here he was more than Commander Akerman, he was Levi,” Marco smiled briefly at the numerous nods of agreement scattered throughout the crowd.

“Commander Levi Akerman,” he continued, “was an extraordinary individual. Who lived in during an era that was as extraordinary as he. There are some here today who still remember when the world existed only between three walls and many of the rest of us are the children who were born when the vast nature of our world had just been re-discovered. Commander Akerman was one of those born to a world much more contained than it is today. He was born in a place where even sunlight was scarce. Born in the Underground City he should have lived and died without living above ground, but instead he fought his way to the surface and then beyond the fortifications of the miniature world he found in the sun’s light. When I was twelve and exuberant in my curiosity and as equally lacking in tact I asked him why he joined the Survey Corp. His answer was that he left the walls for the first time to kill a man and the second to follow him. For years that was the extent of the explanation he would give, but as with many things when it comes to Commander Akerman what he allowed of his heart and motivations to be seen was only a sliver of the story. He kept many of his feelings close, but the man beneath his stoic exterior was one who held great love, passion, and hope. For years he silently sacrificed to protect those he loved. For me this was demonstrated during a time I struggled with the guilt of having to send those under my command into battle. One night he told me to get off my ass and follow him. He didn’t say anything, but we ended up walking along a beach for hours, before he stopped and asked me what I saw. By then I was hot, my shoes were filled with sand, and I was more than a little pissed about being dragged out on a pointless midnight stroll. So, I told him it was the fucking ocean. He just smirked and said, “It’s a fucking big lake with more salt than anyone can collect in their life and those damn brats were going to see it and I choose to allow my best friend and over a hundred soldiers to die so they could.” When I just stood there gaping at him he said, “Did you think what I did was because of some fucking desire to save humanity. I don’t give shit about humanity. But, if I hadn’t done the things I did or gave the orders I had then I knew those assholes would die. I chose to turn my soul black with blood and send others to kill and die, because I believed it was worth their lives. Right or wrong it was my choice. I’m not a good man. I’m not brilliant like Erwin, Hange, and Arlert were. I won’t tell you if you’re doing the right thing or not. That’s for you to decide. That brat, Armin, said if you can’t sacrifice everything you’ll never achieve anything. Fuck if I know if that’s true, but kid, you aren’t giving orders casually. You know what their cost is and you gave them anyway. There’s a difference between accepting the cost and self-flagellation. Don’t let unearned guilt devalue them by making their cost worthless.” He didn’t try to absolve me of guilt or tell me I was wrong or right, he told me not to cheapen my soldiers with excessive guilt.”

Pausing Marco surveyed the audience, “I’m standing here because of his words by that big fucking lake. We’re all standing here because he accepted the cost of what it would take to ultimately bring all of us to the shores of that ocean. He may have said he had no love for humanity, but like his given reason for joining the Survey Corp there was more to the story. I’d like to introduce Commander Akerman’s daughter, Doctor Sylvia Akerman. She more than I can shed light on this amazing man."

Giving a brief nod of acceptance of the applause from the audience Marco stepped back from the microphone to allow a woman who despite being on the far side of middle age still had a vitality few could match. Her hair that was more gray than brown was pulled into a tight bun, but as with Marco, her face bore the marks of happiness rather than sorrow. “Thank you for coming today. I know my father would have been less than thrilled by all this attention, but this is for us as much as him so I’ll say this to his ghost, “Stop being so hard-boiled, shut-up, and let us say nice things about you.”” The applause this time was accompanied by a few cheers.

Sylvia allowed the crowd to quiet again before continuing, “Those who are going to speak after me today will tell you about his leadership, prowess in battle, and many other accomplishments. I want you to tell you about my father, Levi, the man who when others his age were welcoming grandchildren decided to adopt a troubled orphan from the Underground.  As Marco said my father kept his feelings close, but he was terrible at hiding them from those who spent time with him. I learned as much from watching him as from his words growing up. I spent yesterday day in my father’s study and what I found revealed more about the depth of his love than what any verbal declaration could have done.  I’ve been in my father’s study so often that most of the décor has faded into a meaningless background when compared to the man himself. I think that may be result of the inability of a child to wholly see their parent. But, yesterday I wasn’t there to have tea with my father I was there to begin cataloging the artifacts of his life. What I found once I focused forcibly reminded me how deeply my father loved.”

Turning Sylvia took a slim book from Marco, “This is a children’s book describing the natural world. It’s not the content of this admittedly out of date and simplistic view of our planet that caught my attention. Nor was its innocuous place on shelf devoted primarily to military strategy. It was what I read on the inside cover.”

Donning a pair of reading glasses from a pocket Sylvia opened the book to its inside cover she read the inscription, “Armin, with a book like this you gave us dreams of oceans, deserts, and fields of snow. With your direction, you gave us their reality. Love, Eren and Mikasa.,” handing both the book and glasses to Marco she faced the crowd.

“He didn’t have pictures displayed of those he served alongside in the Survey Corp. He kept more personal tokens and until yesterday I had never given them or their significance more than a passing thought. The book wasn’t the only token. There are others that I may never know the significance of, but there are a few like the book we should all be able recognize.”

“If you have been in any of my father’s offices over the years you will have seen a quilt folder over a couch or chair someplace in the room. The quilt was made from the cloaks worn by the Survey Corp. That much was obvious by the wings of freedom at its center. However, I realized as I held it last night, that the thin strip of red cloth framing the square containing the wings was from the scarf Mikasa Akerman famously wore. In the same tray on his desk that he kept the glasses he swore he didn’t need were another pair of glasses whose leather straps he kept supple and clean despite their age and an owner who would never again come careening through the door. On another bookshelf, there was a children’s history textbook from before we left Walls that had belonged to Commander Erwin Smith. In a rather dreadful ceramic bowl I made as a child he kept an old tin spoon whose handle was a bit deformed like it had been exposed to too much heat.”

Smiling softly Sylvia continued, “Tucked in the pages of the book that had belonged to Armin were hand written directions on making an omelet. Hanging between two book cases a shadow box held a broken arrow and in another there was a pair of white feathers. He kept all of them with him.  He didn’t just remember their faces and stories he kept mementos of the individuals and events. There was the broken seashell that held his pen, a paperweight that looked like a piece of stone that had chipped away from one of the Walls. Tucked in one of the drawers of his desk there was a wooden box that had been used to hold a syringe and inside there was a single key on a necklace. My father wasn’t known for loud or obvious declarations, but don’t mistake his lack of exuberance for an absence of caring. What I found in the sanctuary that was his office should make that clear.”

The smiles that had been present at the beginning of Sylvia’s speech had become tinged with grief as she spoke and from her seat with the remaining members of the 104th, Historia, allowed her tears to flow freely.

“My father spent his final years in the house that had once sheltered the nine survivors the coup and the subsequent retaking of Wall Maria after they established operations outside the Walls. I asked him why he wanted to live in such a large home for one person and he said he wanted to be able to hear the ocean and everywhere else never let in enough light. I lived with him as his health declined and I often found him wandering the halls on nights he couldn’t sleep. I walked with him on more than one occasion. He never wanted to talk during those walks, but he’d make of point of stopping by each room that had housed one of them to straighten bedding and ensure the rooms had been cleaned. He never answered me when I asked him about his nightly checks. But, since he refused to visit any of the memorials that have been erected over the years, I think it was his way of honoring their memories in a more personal manor than he would have been allowed at a public monument. I loved my father and he was never stingy with demonstrating his love for me, but I know as I go through his rooms I will continue to find evidence of his love for the many people he knew over his lifetime. I hope that those of you here today will remember not just the military hero, but the person who loved so deeply he couldn’t express it with something a limiting as words. Thank you.”


End file.
